


everybody lies

by awkwardeye



Series: Second POV [11]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Online Relationship, POV Second Person, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardeye/pseuds/awkwardeye
Summary: in which kylo ren is a no better than a stranger and you spend the night with him





	everybody lies

**Author's Note:**

> i'm playing with style whilst essentially ignoring the fic i could finish in a day, but won't  
> and my god the new paramore album is just so good even though my will has been beaten by exams  
> y'all i'm going to h'ell™ for this one
> 
> warnings: reference to underage sex, slight ddlg, unprotected sex, vulgar language

He sits at the desk, a cloud of smoke a perpetual mask.

There’s only one bed in the room. You wonder if he did that on purpose. He promised earlier that he’d stop at any point, that he wouldn’t do anything that made you feel too uncomfortable, if you asked him to. But that was earlier. Earlier feels too far away from now to be anything near substantial.

You hold your breath, head lolling off the side of the bed. Gravity pulls strands of hair toward the ground. You imagine your blood falling to your head, pooling at the crown in response to gravity. Is that how the human body works? No, there are valves and structures that keep blood flowing the right way. Something like that, something to keep your body from descending into chaos when tilted.

It began online. A chat forum for the sexually depraved. Your conversations lasted for hours and you believed at the time that every word was beyond important, something much more than important. Kylo wasn’t like the other older men who seemed excited only by the fact of your age. Whether that excited him or not, he never said.

It had been going on for a few months before you decided to speak on the phone. Midnight, downtown, you stood outside of a bodega, calling him on a payphone. You were terribly careful with him and you assume he was the same with you. His voice had sounded deep (but it was nothing compared to now) and unbelievably mature while yours had yet to escape the bounds of a childish pitch. That was when he first started calling you his ‘little girl’. That excited you. Still excites you.

Then you’d evolved, moved on for a while. A long stretch of months painted days without him, without the anxiety of your mother walking in on one of your conversations.  You were paranoid at the time that somehow she could spell every sinful dream you indulged him through the noise of your keyboard clicking. Your parents were protective of you. In fact, the moment they awarded you your first computer on your seventeenth birthday was the first time they’d given you anything that belonged solely to you that could be so dangerous.

Now you laugh thinking of all the trouble you put yourself through in order to hide your ongoing dialogue with Kylo. It’s amusing to think that a day after getting the computer you’d already been virtually violated by a number of men who couldn’t say for sure the color of your hair or eyes. But it’s really not funny. Your stomach turns thinking of it.

Kylo’s still sitting at the desk, smoke rising from his lips.

Is that his real name? It’s very easy to lie about that sort of thing. He thinks your name is Lola.

You were reading Nabokov when you told him that.

You’re sure Kylo isn’t his real name, either.

Names aren’t important unless something goes terribly wrong, terribly right.

After evolving and being silent for months, you were still lit aflame by the soft ding of a new message from him, the glowing green dot beside his avatar that meant he was online. He asked for a picture. No, he didn’t _ask_ , he  _told_ you to send a picture. It was hard to do.

You borrowed your older brother’s digital camera. It was clunky and heavy, hard to hold at just the right position. You wore a skirt in the picture and a blouse. Pink and yellow. It took some effort to send the picture to him. He called you beautiful, though your face wasn’t visible.

Back then, he would tell you about all the things he wanted to do to you.

Kylo never said anything like ‘make love’ and he never described anything quite as sweet. It was all about fucking.

 _I want to fuck you_ …

Those words appeared on your screen more often than hello or goodbye.

Now, three years later, you’re with each other for the first time.

Kylo made the reservation, paid for your train ticket, bought the clothes you’re wearing now. Before, he bought you stuffed animals whenever you sent him a naughty picture. Now, he buys your path to him. You didn’t protest then and you won’t protest now.

There’s only the one bed. It bothers you that there aren’t two. If there were two, you think, you’d have some place to put space between you if things become too intense. You suppose you’ll have to sleep beside him tonight and the night after that and so on until you return to your parents’ house. He’s a stranger still. But that excites you, so you don’t complain.

There’s a painting of a bird above the bed. The style is reminiscent of ancient Chinese art, most likely mass produced and cheap. There’s some scrawled mess of characters along the side in a perfect line. Two nightstands flank the bed, a digital clock glowing red on one, Bibles in both drawers. Kylo sits at the desk, facing the television. An attractive woman talks about a plane crash, her features grainy and distorted ever so slightly. You can almost feel the pale light on your face.

A single lamp and the television provide the only light in the room. It’s enough light to make out your reflection in the mirror conveniently placed in full view of the bed. The layers of crimson fabric are striking against the white sheets. It’s the same dress you wore on your last date with a nice young man. You remember getting drunk and crying in the bathroom stall, head in hands and blubbering about how helpless you felt to a stranger. Your fingers trail along the edge of a pillowcase as you watch him without watching him.

Kylo was here when you got in and insisted on watching you get settled. His eyes are intense, incapable of hiding the sadistic desires that dwell within him. You think they’re beautiful as they shine in all of their crazed desire. He’s much larger than you expected, and clean, sterile as the suite. He doesn’t smile. His tone is as stern as it was on the phone.

“Have you done this before?” he asks, standing and crushing his cigarette on the desk, ignoring the ashtray.

“No.” You pause, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Have you?”

He smirks.

You smile at him, knowingly.

“Yes,” he murmurs, stripping out of his shirt. “Are you nervous?”

You nod, watch him undo his belt, his dark hair falling across his forehead. On your hands and knees, you crawl over to the edge of the bed. Watching him excites you as though his hands are on your body. There’s a knowledge between you of what the other is capable of, and just enough mystery for this meeting to be as terrifying as it is exciting.

He’s gazing down at you when you raise your eyes to meet his. It’s unnerving, how long he can stare without any indication of thought. Mechanical. Anxiety pools within you, still, in response to his gaze. If he wanted to, he could have you do anything for him. What’s usually a playful exchange online feels all too real when he’s tangible in front of you.

“What’s wrong, princess?” He twists his lips into a cruel grin, his hand coming up to cup your chin. “Do you want to stop before we begin?”

“I…” You lower your eyes. The way he asked makes you feel as though he wouldn’t stop even if you said you wanted to. You suddenly feel naive for putting so much trust in the hands of a strange man whose favorite fantasy is ruining you, degrading you.

“Don’t think,” he says. “Just open your mouth and be a good girl.”

Your lips part, jaw dropping. This, you can do. He knows and understands you, just like he’s said before, and you’re a girl who wants to be controlled whether you admit or not. He’s the one who knows. He’ll know it all for you.

He said once that his job is to know you better than even you know yourself. On the phone. It had been late and you remember sitting in your father’s favorite armchair, legs draped over the arms, hips tilted up, fingers pumping rhythmically in response to his words. He knew how to touch you then, describing in great detail the things he wanted you to do to yourself.

The tie rests over your eyes, blinding you. His movements are swift, the knot familiar to his digits. You wonder how many others he’s had in this position as eager and excited as you are now. This definitely isn’t his first time. That’s certainly not a lie.

His fingers skim your jaw as the head of his cock circles your lips. You keep your tongue in your mouth, restraining yourself from tasting him until he wants you to. A soft noise escapes your lips as cock dips between them teasingly and then altogether too quickly to be expected or prepared for, despite the moments he gave you to do just that. You don’t have to be told to act.

His skin is hot and smooth, seeming to go on forever. You move slowly down the length of him, hands kept tucked neatly between your thighs. You grip the covers beneath you, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips sway slightly, thrusting into your mouth slowly, until you gag. Then his hands come up and hold your head still as he forces his length down your throat quickly.

Your nostrils flare and you reach for his thighs in an attempt to push him away. It’s uncomfortable to attempt to speak with his dick in your mouth and each mumbled utterance encourages a groan from above, his digits tightening in your hair. Your headaches along with your throat and jaw.

“Don’t fight it, just suck my cock, baby,” he says, his voice low.

So you do as he tells you to, sitting still and letting the stranger use your mouth as he pleases. You swallow when he tells you to, the sensation strange with an occupied throat. Your breath evens as you relax, accepting your position beneath him. Your cheeks feel wet and you imagine they’re flushed, lips tingling and swelling from the constant friction of his cock, now bathed in your saliva.

Between your thighs, the fabric of your panties is wet. You can smell your arousal and he can, too, but neither of you pays any attention to it. Throbbing, begging to be filled silently, subtly. Imagining how it might feel to be wrapped around him, to take all of him in all the way to the base, makes your sex twitch. There’s a pressure building within you.

You want to see him. You want to see his head tilt back, his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows his moans. His lips forming every filthy direction he lets fall your way. Yourself reflected in his eyes, gagging on his cock and yet still watching him as though he’s a divine creature and your only form of worship is through such vulgarity.

There’s no time for it. Soon he’s pulling you back by your hair, his dick slipping from your mouth with a wet pop and deep gasp. His hands fall from your hair to your thighs, reaching hungrily beneath your dress for your thong which he tears away from your body. He attempts to take the dress off without ruining it, but abandons the notion almost immediately, tearing the fabric from your body before you can reach up to help him undress you. You think bitterly that it was a waste of money until his hands wrap around your thighs, pulling your body toward the edge of the bed.

You want to see him again, so badly. There’s only the noise of your heavy breathing to fill the room as your sexes meet each other in a teasing embrace. His shaft lays against your folds, the weight of it a promise you want kept, that you’re willing to break a few rules for.

“You want Daddy to fuck you, don’t you,” he murmurs, chuckling softly to himself.

“Please…”

“Tell me what you want, little one.” His cock twitches against your skin. Something warm and wet drips onto your flushed, swollen skin.

You bite your lip and tilt your head back, searching the darkness for the courage to utter what you will next. It’s humiliating, saying the things he likes to hear, the things that make him want to fuck you nearly as much as seeing you. He likes telling you how wild it makes him when you call him Daddy, when you beg to be fucked, to be allowed to cum. There’s all this knowledge of his body, and yet, here’s your first time encountering him. And you’re not even allowed to see him.

He grips your thighs tightly, rutting against you softly. Kylo moans loudly, drawing out the noise to make you writhe beneath him, needy and desperate. You want the pleasure he’s feeling, to bathe in it together. Digits snake around your neck and he leans down so close you can feel his breath hit your cheek in hot bursts of air.

His lips skim your jaw, then your lips. They dip down, resting between your breasts. The warmth of his tongue makes you jump as it trails teasingly close your nipple, but not there yet. And still, you’re quiet, not yet ready to give in to the desperation and desire as he continues to tease your cunt. Your back arches as he pulls away again, hand tightening around your throat.

Kylo allows you to stroke his cock. Rocking your hips, you spread your thighs as far as you can, and his cock parts your folds. You think you could get yourself off this way, rubbing your cit in circles against his burning erection. But he would never allow it. So you relinquish, your voice soft and reluctant.

“I want you to fuck me, Daddy,” you moan.

How do you look to him right now? Splayed out on foreign sheets, dripping wet and pleading to be fucked by him, illuminated only by the lamp and the old television set. Did he close the blinds? Can someone else see you? Perhaps a stranger is accidentally intruding on your intimate escapade, watching you in shock and pretending that the show isn’t nearly as arousing as it is scandalous.

Kylo gives no warning save for the tightening of his fingers at your throat.

His cock slides into you with ease, you’re so wet. Still, the stretch is a surprise, but not unwelcome. You both take a moment to relish in the feeling of it all. He enjoys the tightness, the slickness of your pussy accepting him fully, inch by inch until you feel filled to capacity. Two fingers rest against your clit while Kylo enjoys the sensation of filling you, forcing your sex to accept all he has to offer.

You moan when he pulls back, leaving only the tip of his dick within you. A strangled scream is cut off by his hand, air denied making your head spin with an erotic dizziness. It’s as though you’ve transcended the boundaries of reality as he splits you apart, fucking you without any restraint. It's almost painful, but the pain is welcomed with the mind numbing bursts of pleasure.

It’s primal, lacking in affection and tenderness. Your body is a vessel for him, a toy. He fucks you like a stranger, like he doesn’t care about you. You turn your head and sob, overcome by amplified senses. You want to see him, want to see his lip between his teeth. You know he bites his lip when he’s close, know how his shoulders stiffen and the muscles of his torso twitch as his orgasm approaches because he’s sent videos of himself.

His fingers are harsh on your clit, loose on your throat as the need for air becomes more imminent. He knows all there is to know about your body. A cacophony of noise is sure to bring complaints. Your moans. His growls and moans. Whimpering. Pleading. Skin against skin. The wet noises emanating from where your bodies join.

He calls you his slut, dares you to cum on his cock without permission.

Each word of degradation makes your pussy clench, but you try to fight off the orgasm that threatens until he reaches up and unties his tie. The fabric falls onto the covers and he grips your jaw tightly.

“Watch me fuck your pussy.”

You balance your weight on your arms, staring down at the sight of his cock burying itself in your pussy only to emerge again wet with your arousal. It’s all so forbidden, so wrong. A stranger whose name you don’t even know is fucking you in a hotel room without any regard for safety. Where is the sterile, smoking man?

You writhe and try to pull away out of habit when you feel his cock twitch within you. He grips your hips and leans back, thrusting quickly and harshly. The headboard bangs against wall. The news is still on, the voices suddenly quiet and drowned out by everything else. The bed’s springs creak and groan. His eyes are intense, insane.

“Please, can I cum, Daddy?” you whimper, knowing the end is imminent.

All it takes is a nod and you’re coming undone, body a mess of spasms and pleasure as you attempt to hold his gaze. Kylo smirks at you, his eyes slipping out of focus only slightly as he slams into you, chasing his own climax. It hits suddenly, flooding the twitching walls of your sex begging for his seed.

And when you’ve both finished, he pulls away for only a moment to catch his breath. Then he’s pulling your limp body up, flipping you onto your stomach, and bringing your hips up. You lay with your cheek pressed against his tie and the comforter as his fingers plunge into your sex. They slip out to circle your clit, lubricated by a mixture of your cum and his.

“This is the only acceptable way for your pussy to be,” he says. “Dripping with my cum.”


End file.
